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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28532541">Due Upon Receipt</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paganpunk2/pseuds/Paganpunk2'>Paganpunk2</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Father Brown (2013)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst with a Happy Ending, Edgar vs. Tommy, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, From Sex to Love, Homosexuality, Just Sex, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Name-Calling, New Relationship, Perfect Alibi, Period-Typical Homophobia, Personal Growth, softie sullivan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 21:48:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,292</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28532541</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paganpunk2/pseuds/Paganpunk2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It started as just sex, and for a while that was fine.  When Sid starts to feel as if he's being used, though, it's up to Sullivan come to terms with his true feelings and advance their relationship from lust to love...</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sid Carter/Inspector Sullivan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Early Days</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Things That Don't Bear Thinking About</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Y’know, you could probably make a bit of money off this receipt I’m writing you.”</p>
<p>Sullivan sent a puzzled look towards the man seated at his kitchen table. “What on earth are you talking about?”</p>
<p>Sid didn’t raise his head from the sheet of notebook paper he was writing on. “Well, this whole place was re-done right before you moved in.”</p>
<p>“Yes. It was.” The police cottage had still smelled of fresh paint when Sullivan had first unlocked the door, in fact. “Why?”</p>
<p>“Been less than a year, and you've already had to have someone in for the lights. Least, that’s what it says here on this little slip of alibi.” Sid’s eyes glittered above a grin as he finally looked up. “...Seems to me like you ought to get a refund for the shite job they did.”</p>
<p>“You aren’t seriously suggesting that I attempt to commit fraud?”</p>
<p>“Why not? You’ve already committed your fair share of other illegal acts today. How many’d we rack up just in the last few hours?”</p>
<p>“Mm.” Sullivan sipped the tea he’d made while Sid was having a quick post-coital shower. “It doesn’t bear thinking about.”</p>
<p>None of this did, really. It was unreal how much his world had changed just in the past twelve hours. This morning he’d spent five minutes ranting to Sergeant Goodfellow about how insufferable it was that he was going to have to rely on Sidney Carter, of all people, to lead him to the cave where an escaped convict was allegedly hiding out. Then Franklin Jessop – who was not a convict at all, but a local cheese enthusiast who had been secretly using the cave as storage for his vast and aromatic collection – had taken a potshot at the chauffeur for ‘speaking with an impure accent’ within hearing of his aging Gloucester Marbled, and something in Sullivan had given way.</p>
<p>How he’d maintained his countenance as Sid dove for the floor (Jessop’s vintage Gouda, incidentally, had taken the bullet for him), Sullivan didn’t know. After hauling the trigger-happy dairy aficionado down to the station, he’d taken Sid’s statement personally. At the end, as if it was an afterthought, Sullivan had requested his assistance with a faulty bit of wiring back at the cottage. Every word, every tone, had been fit for public consumption.</p>
<p>But Sid possessed such sensitive sex hormone radar that MI-5 should have been trying to isolate it and adapt it to more useful purposes. Sullivan had relied on that fact, and it had paid off. The door of the cottage had barely shut out the street before they were on each other. There had been no talk required beyond short, breathy instructions and the moaning of each other’s names. And now here they were, in the kitchen together, and strangely not awkward about anything they’d just done.</p>
<p>“Oh, like you’re not going to think about it once I’ve gone.” Sid rose from his seat and closed the distance to where Sullivan was leaning against the counter. Folding the paper deftly in half with one hand, he tucked it into the breast pocket of the Inspector’s loosely tied dressing gown. “You’ll be finding some other problem for me to come by and look at before long, I’d bet.”</p>
<p>Sullivan grimaced. “Sid...what we did tonight cannot become a regular occurrence. This is not some fairy tale where you and I fall in love against all the odds and live happily ever after.”</p>
<p>“Who said anything about love?” Sid took the teacup from Sullivan’s hand, sipped at the liquid inside, then winced and passed it back. “Don’t think I could love anyone who thinks it's alright to put that much milk in. <em>I</em> was talking about sex.” He smirked. “You enjoyed all of that stuff earlier, Tommy. I know you did.”</p>
<p>The sheer amount of hissing and groaning and thrusting he’d done upstairs made it impossible for Sullivan to argue with that. He didn’t even <em>want</em> to argue, because he <em>had</em> enjoyed it, immensely. He did want something else, however, and that thing was an explanation. “Where did you come up with that name?”</p>
<p>“What, Tommy?”</p>
<p>“Yes.” He’d noticed its use earlier, but he had been too distracted by Sid’s hands and mouth and...just...<em>everything</em>...to puzzle over it at the time.</p>
<p>Sid shrugged. “Well, according to the paperwork you leave all over your desk, it <em>is</em> your name, so...”</p>
<p>“No, it’s a derivative of my middle name. My first name is Edgar.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, I know, and that’s fucking awful. I mean, I remember you saying once that you and your dad don’t get on, but I didn’t think anyone could hate a baby enough to call it Edgar.”</p>
<p>Sullivan blinked at him. “...Edgar happens to also be my father’s name.”</p>
<p>“Well, maybe that’s part of whatever his problem is. Anyway,” Sid shook his head, “I can’t imagine ‘Edgar’ suggesting that we screw in front of the bathroom mirror so we could both see all the things we were doing. Thomas, either, being honest. But <em>Tommy...”</em></p>
<p>He invaded Sullivan’s space then, not quite touching him anywhere but leaning in so close that their heat and air mingled intimately. “I think Tommy’s hiding a dirty mind under all of Edgar’s squeaky-cleanness. And I’d like to find out just how nasty he can get. So next time there’s a drip in the sink, a crack in the plaster, whatever, let me know.” Sid tapped the paper he’d slipped into Sullivan’s pocket. “Don‘t worry, I’ll give you another receipt for your records.”</p>
<p>His nearness and the brief pressure of his index finger shouldn’t have been enough to cause fresh stirrings between Sullivan’s legs, but it was. Sid had been here for hours already, though, and he really did need to leave for safety’s sake. “Get out of my house, Carter,” Sullivan breathed. “Before I break something.”</p>
<p>Sid winked. “See you soon, Inspector.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Breaking Point</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“...I hate making out all these receipts, week after week.”</p>
<p>“It’s still a good excuse,” Sullivan rebutted from his seat across the kitchen table. “And I’ve been bringing the things you’ve mentioned up at the station to build the story’s credibility.” The grousing had been a stroke of genius on Sid’s part. Sullivan had only the most basic ideas about what could go wrong with a house that might require a handyman, but Sid had odd-jobbed his way through enough of Kembleford to have built up a decent catalog of weird issues for old cottages. Every time they met he coached Sullivan on what should go wrong next, and Sullivan would duly groan about the new problem at work a few days or a week later.</p>
<p>“Yeah, but what is this, the twelfth, thirteenth one I’ve done in three months?”</p>
<p>Sullivan shivered happily. He knew that the note Sid was writing out would, in fact, be the sixteenth. They hadn’t actually met on all those occasions, because it strengthened their alibi to occasionally have Sid be seen here doing real work while Sullivan was at the station, but a full dozen of the receipts marked encounters that had nothing to do with home improvement.</p>
<p>“Everyone agrees that the police cottage has always had recurring problems,” he said now, “and no one has been the least surprised that I’m not interested in trying to fix them myself. There has been no questioning of any part of the story. Not even of my choice of labor, which I’ll admit is something I worried about at first.” It should have struck people as strange that the head of the local constabulary kept letting a convicted burglar work in his house unsupervised, or so he’d thought, but the villagers were so over that aspect of Sid’s past that it would have raised more eyebrows if Sullivan had hired anyone else.</p>
<p>Sid looked up sharply at that. “That’s really all I am to you, innit?” he demanded. “‘Labor’.”</p>
<p>“...What?” Frowning, Sullivan glanced at the cup near Sid’s elbow. It had become habit for him to make two teas while Sid was cleaning up. Even though there was nothing similar about their tastes – Sullivan preferred a milky brew with no sugar, while Sid believed in copious sweetener and keeping the milk out of sight completely – he did a decent enough job that Sid’s was normally long gone by this point. “You haven’t touched your tea. Is something wrong?”</p>
<p>“What, now all of a sudden you care?”</p>
<p>There was bitterness in his voice. “Ah...what’s happened?” Sullivan asked. “You were fine upstairs.” More than fine, as a matter of fact, because anything Tommy (and it turned out that he really was <em>dirty,</em> was Tommy) wanted to try Sid was always game for, and tonight had been no exception.</p>
<p>“Oh, yeah, upstairs. All you’re actually interested in. I forgot, I’m nothing but your manwhore.”</p>
<p>Confusion had now subsumed Sullivan’s happiness of a moment before. He had, in fact, used that phrase tonight, but he hadn’t meant it to be insulting. It had just been part of the scene he'd been painting in his head, a reaction to the other man’s surprising and delightful submissiveness in the bedroom. Sid really should have known that without needing to be told. “Sid, where is this coming from?”</p>
<p>“Where do you think?” Sid shoved the sheet of paper across the table at him. “Here, take your receipt for my ‘services,’ since they’re apparently the only thing of value I provide around here.”</p>
<p>Sullivan took his time in picking the paper up, buying himself a moment to process the meaning between Sid’s words. “...We agreed at the outset that this was just sex,” he said carefully.</p>
<p>“That was before we did it a dozen times in as many weeks!”</p>
<p>“You said you wanted to find out how nasty we could get!”</p>
<p>“And <em>you</em> said that it couldn’t become a regular thing, and that this wasn’t a fairy tale where we fall in love at the end,” Sid shot back. “We’ve done already broken one of those rules. I guess I thought sooner or later the other one’d give out, too.” He paused, his lips trembling. “...But I guess I was wrong.”</p>
<p>Stunned, Sullivan could barely reply. “Sid, what-”</p>
<p>“You having me back here every week,” Sid cut him off, “and us having a smoke and a cuppa and a chat every time when we were done...you getting to know me, acting like you <em>want</em> to know me...you doing all of those things, then saying what you said upstairs earlier, and repeating that line about all of it being just sex...that’s the sort of cruelty I’d’ve expected from Edgar, not Tommy.” He stood up then, leaving his tea still untouched. “Well, maybe you’re more Edgar than Tommy, after all. My mistake for thinking otherwise.”</p>
<p>He was gone, out the back door with his jacket in his hand, before Sullivan could pick his jaw up off the floor. “Where the hell did <em>that</em> come from?” he asked the empty kitchen. A bolt of annoyance shot through him. More Edgar than Tommy? They’d <em>agreed</em> that this was how things would be. They’d gone into it knowing that it was only sex. Yes, they now spent almost as much time talking as they did screwing, but why should that...change...anything...</p>
<p>“...Oh.” Sullivan thought about the various flings he’d seen Sid fall into and back out of. There was, he realized, a predictable pattern to them. First Sid flirted, maybe for a few weeks, maybe just for a few minutes, depending on the woman. When they inevitably went to bed – and it was almost always inevitable, once the serious eyeballing had started – they were a rumor-mill item for a fortnight on average, three weeks at the limit. Then it ended, usually in a good-spirited manner, and before long Sid went on to a new face or circled back around to an old one who was up for another spin.</p>
<p>It never, ever went on for three months. It never, Sullivan sensed, included lengthy conversations about local events, personal ethics, or their own pasts. And it certainly never involved Sid writing out receipts for each and every encounter he and his partner had. No wonder he’d been hurt by Sullivan’s mid-session name calling, especially since it seemed that he now wanted what they were doing to be more than ‘just’ sex.</p>
<p>Which begged the question of what Sullivan wanted. Puzzling over it, he lifted his teacup to his lips. Empty. His eyes fell to the cup Sid had left behind. It would be awful, he knew. He cringed every time he put in the third sugar cube. But he still reached for it, and then took a sip.</p>
<p>Diabetes in liquid form, just as he’d suspected. Sullivan nearly gagged. Then, inexplicably, he took another sip. This time it wasn’t as cloying. The uncharacteristically harsh flavor of the tea itself - Sullivan had been buying this blend his entire adult life, and it was never this rough, not even close - emerged from behind the sugary façade and assaulted his taste buds. Sid's drink was a reflection of this entire night, sweet, so sweet, too sweet to last, followed by a hard punch in the mouth. Damn it.</p>
<p>Damn it, because Sullivan <em>did</em> want it to last. Neither he nor Sid had yet shared any really deep secrets, but they both had enough experience with subtext to say a great deal in a few words. Sullivan liked that, their secret language, and not just because it was how they’d gotten here to begin with.</p>
<p>He liked, too, the way he felt free to indulge when he was with Sid, free to say whatever popped into his head, free to make suggestions that would have made a <em>real</em> rent boy demand more money. It felt good to be Tommy, to even have a nickname at all. It felt good to be listened to, and cared for, and called out on his own bullshit. He wouldn’t go so far as to call this love (though he wasn’t sure he’d recognize the emotion right off the bat anyway), but it did feel like the kind of thing that might grow into that four-letter word.</p>
<p>But not if he kept insisting that he and Sid were just having sex when they’d clearly moved beyond that weeks ago. And not if he couldn’t figure out a way to relay his change of heart to the man who’d just stormed out of his house. “Sidney,” he sighed as he stared into the hazy depths of the other man’s abandoned teacup, “the things you make me do...”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Edgar vs. Tommy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“...Sitting room lights again, is it?”</p>
<p>Sullivan blinked at the figure on the doorstep of the police cottage. He hadn’t been sure that Sid would come in response to his summons, but here he was. “You, ah...you received my note. The one I left at the presbytery.”</p>
<p>“Obviously.” When Sullivan didn’t move, Sid rolled his eyes. “I can’t fix your electricity from out here, Inspector.”</p>
<p>“No. No, of course not.” He stepped back to let Sid enter, then closed the door behind him. This was normally the part where Sid put down the toolbox that he’d carried in for show and they got straight to the far more important business of taking each other’s clothes off. Today, though, Sid kept his tools firmly in hand and merely looked at him. Sullivan cleared his throat. “Um...”</p>
<p>“So is it the sitting room lights, or...?”</p>
<p>“Uh...no. No. It’s...” Why was he so tongue-tied? It had been a week since they’d fought, not a year, and Sullivan had reviewed what he wanted, <em>needed,</em> to say a hundred times over. This shouldn’t have been so hard. Maybe, he thought as he swallowed hard, it would have been easier if Sid’s gaze didn’t look so distant and wary... “It’s my bedroom,” he let out in a rush.</p>
<p>“Your bedroom.” Completely unmoved, as if all the things that had occurred in that ten-by-ten space had been nothing but a delirious fever dream that Sullivan had had all by himself.</p>
<p>“Yes.” This wasn’t at all how he’d meant to start, but he saw no other option than to carry on with the metaphor. “There’s, ah...there’s no spark, suddenly.”</p>
<p>Sid raised his eyebrows. “No spark. Right. And you checked the fuse?”</p>
<p>“The fuse? What...Sid...” Sullivan shook his head. “There isn’t anything wrong with the house. You know that.”</p>
<p>The other man grimaced and gave a short nod. “...Yeah, I thought that might be what was going on. So you just called me over here for another quick, no-strings-attached fuck, is that it?” He scoffed. “The note you left with the Father was a nice touch. It’ll really - what’s that thing you said last time? – oh, yeah, ‘build the story’s credibility.’”</p>
<p>“Sid-”</p>
<p>“You know, I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately, Sullivan. And d’you know what I realized?” Sid leaned in, the tears he was holding back making his eyes shine. “That the only thing sadder than a manwhore is a manwhore who not only gives out receipts, but who <em>doesn’t even actually get paid</em>.”</p>
<p>Sullivan caught his wrist as Sid tried to move past him and back to the door. “You are not a manwhore,” he said firmly. Sid paused, but didn’t lift his gaze from the rug. “...I’m sorry I said that. It was done in the heat of the moment, and I’ve regretted it ever since you left the other night.”</p>
<p>Having nearly watched Sid walk out again – forever, this time, he was certain – had freed Sullivan’s tongue. “I also regret that I didn’t realize that things between us had...changed. That it was more than just sex, and had been for some time.”</p>
<p>“For me,” Sid choked out. “More than just sex for me, but not for you. Not for Edgar. You made that pretty clear.”</p>
<p>“All I made clear was that I am far too practiced at hiding my own feelings from myself. Sid...” Sullivan blew out a long breath. “Do you remember the first time we were together?”</p>
<p>“Course I do. It’s one of the dozen-odd nights I’ve been torturing myself with all week. Ow,” he complained as Sullivan’s fingers clamped down.</p>
<p>“Sorry,” said Sullivan, loosening his grasp so as not to cause pain but keeping it tight enough that Sid couldn’t easily slip away. “What I meant was, do you remember that day? In the cave?”</p>
<p>“The lifesaving block of Gouda?”</p>
<p>Sullivan almost chuckled at Sid’s phrasing. He sobered quickly, though, as he recalled the emotions that had flooded him as the report of Franklin Jessop’s gun reached his ears. “Yes. I swear my heart stopped in that moment, Sid. That single second between Jessop firing and me realizing that you hadn’t been hit was the longest one of my entire life.</p>
<p>“And the thing is, I had <em>no idea</em> how I felt about you until that instant. I had never consciously thought of you as anything other than an annoyance. Then Jessop tried to shoot you, and suddenly all I wanted was to tear him limb-from-limb and steal five minutes to bandage you up before I was hauled away in my own handcuffs.</p>
<p>“I didn’t know how to deal with it. I still don’t, to some extent. Sex was middle ground, I suppose, a way to get my fix without examining the unexpected addiction itself. And you were so willing to let me get high on you however I wanted to that I didn’t have to face the fact that it <em>wasn’t</em> just sex. That it never really had been.</p>
<p>“There were probably plenty of signs of how you’d started to feel before last week, but if I saw them, I ignored them. By the time you reached the breaking point, I’d been ignoring how we both felt for long enough that I was truly caught off guard. When I’m surprised like that, whatever the situation, my immediate response tends to be...well...”</p>
<p>“To be a stubborn jackass who doesn’t want to listen to anyone else,” Sid contributed, “even if what they’re saying makes more sense than what’s coming out of your own mouth.”</p>
<p>“I...yes.” The description was harsh, but Sullivan knew it was fair. “I was like that as a child, and I imagine I’ll always be like that. It really <em>is</em> an Edgar trait; my father is the same way. It’s an Edgar trait, too, that I dam things up if I don’t like them, or if they complicate matters. The dams don’t give way often, but when they do it can be messy and painful and...well, you know. We’re standing in the middle of a mop-up from one right now.”</p>
<p>Sullivan released Sid’s wrist. “Mine is not an easy personality to put up with. I know that. I’ll understand if, having heard everything I’ve said, you still want to walk out that door. But if you’re willing to stay...to maybe help me learn to be a bit more Tommy and a little less Edgar...I’d like that.”</p>
<p>“...I’ve got a question.”</p>
<p>“What is it?”</p>
<p>“D’you always make such pretty speeches when you’re giving a heartfelt apology?”</p>
<p>Sullivan felt a tiny thrill of hope. “I don’t know. I don’t think I’ve ever given an apology that was anywhere near that heartfelt before.”</p>
<p>Sid nodded. Then he bent down slowly and set his toolbox on the floor. Their gazes met as he straightened. “So it turns out that this ‘spark’ issue in your bedroom is a whole-system sort of problem. That’s challenging. But I don’t mind a challenge, when the incentive is right.”</p>
<p>A grateful shiver ran down the Inspector’s spine. “Do you think you can fix it?”</p>
<p>“I've got a few ideas about how to tackle it.” Sid took Sullivan’s wrist and used it to steer him gently backward to the wall. “It'll take more than one or two visits, though. Just so you know from the start.”</p>
<p>“That's fine,” Sullivan breathed as Sid’s free hand slid into his hair. “I bought more sugar,” he babbled, disoriented by the intensity behind the eyes that were drilling into his own. “There’s plenty of it. For tea, I mean.”</p>
<p>“Good. You make the most perfect cup of tea I’ve ever tasted, and a job this big’s gonna call for a lot of them.”</p>
<p>“Have as many as you like.”</p>
<p>Sid kissed him then, and there were no more words for a long moment. “Now that,” the other man murmured when they finally broke apart, “is what I like to hear.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Not Quite A Fairy Tale Ending...But Close Enough</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“...So who was that, then?”</p>
<p>“Hmm?” Sullivan was still drowsy. They’d dozed off after they were both spent, and he’d only just opened his eyes in response to Sid’s arm vanishing from his waist. “What was who?” he asked, blinking blearily towards the glow of a lighter.</p>
<p>Sid smiled around the cigarette he’d just lit. “You’re adorable when you’re sleepy.”</p>
<p>“Mm. Thank you.” Sullivan closed his eyes again, but still pushed himself up to lean against the headboard. “And for this,” he added as he took the cigarette from Sid’s fingers. “I need a little help waking up.”</p>
<p>“Quick, put it out.”</p>
<p>“No,” Sullivan chuckled. “Let me have this vice.”</p>
<p>“Being awake, or smoking?”</p>
<p>It had been Sullivan who insisted that rather than each smoking their own cigarette after sex – the only time he smoked, as it happened, except on the rare occasions when something occurred which left him deeply shaken – they pass the same one back and forth, then light another to get their full dose. He liked the intimacy of such sharing, the faint taste of his partner’s mouth on the filter, an identical warmth in their lungs. He drew in a long drag and let it out slowly. “You.”</p>
<p>“...That was almost as sweet as everything else we just did. Which brings us back to my question.”</p>
<p>“Mm.” It <em>had</em> been sweet this time, sweet and slow and completely unlike any of their previous couplings. “I don’t know. It was nice, though.”</p>
<p>“Yeah. It was. Wouldn’t mind it like that again sometime.”</p>
<p>“Oh? Are we done exploring the depths of depravity?”</p>
<p>“That doesn’t sound like something I’d ever say.”</p>
<p>“No, it doesn’t. Hence my concern. Tommy would be very disappointed if you always wanted it loving and gentle.”</p>
<p>“Heh. Well, he’s a man of taste, Tommy is. Never get bored when you’re with him.”</p>
<p>“Now who’s being sweet?”</p>
<p>“I wasn’t gonna lay here and let you hog it all, like you’re doing with that cigarette.”</p>
<p>“Here.” Sullivan passed it back. “...I wish I could hog you.”</p>
<p>“You mean that I could stop it with the girls?”</p>
<p>“Well, yes, but we both know that would be too dangerous unless you tapered off to just one of them. Which would be patently unfair to her, in the long term. No, I just meant that I wish you could stay the night. That you didn’t have to go soon.”</p>
<p>“That we lived in a kinder and better world where no one would bat an eye at two blokes sharing a bed?” Sid puffed and handed the cigarette over. “I didn’t know you were such a dreamer, Tommy.”</p>
<p>“I’m not, really. I...I have very few dreams. But that’s one of them.”</p>
<p>“Been holding onto that one for a while, it sounds like.”</p>
<p>“Just since tonight, actually. Since now.”</p>
<p>Sid sent him a sad look. “As flattering as it is to have inspired a dream, I wish it’d been something that might actually come true in our lifetimes.”</p>
<p>Sullivan sighed out a plume of smoke. “...Me, too.”</p>
<p>A beat passed. Then Sid leaned over, took what remained of their cigarette, and left a kiss on Sullivan’s lips in its place. “Least we can always make the best of what dreams <em>do</em> come true. Like this one we’re in. Might not be perfect, but it’s pretty good.”</p>
<p>Watching Sid light their second round off the first, Sullivan smiled. “Yes. Yes, it is.”</p>
<p>Later, after they’d finished smoking and had their tea – Sid made a deeply satisfied noise when he saw the industrial-sized box of sugar cubes Sullivan had procured in a gesture of desperate hope – it was time to part ways as they had on a dozen other nights. The Inspector felt his nerves begin to tangle into knots as their last minutes together ticked by. “Ah...Sid?”</p>
<p>He paused in the act of pulling on his jacket. “Yeah?”</p>
<p>“Please don’t take this the wrong way, but...would you write me a receipt? I’m not implying anything,” Sullivan insisted. “But it really <em>is</em> a good excuse, and since I left a note asking you to come here tonight it would be odd for there to be a gap in the records on my end.”</p>
<p>“Oh. Yeah, sure. I was thinking that the note you left covered us for this time, but you’re right, it would look off if you didn’t have the usual receipt. Need a piece of paper, though.”</p>
<p>“You...you don’t mind?” Relief flooded him. “I thought it made you feel...well, you know. Like that thing which you are not.”</p>
<p>“Mm. You’re right about that, too. It <em>did</em> make me feel like that. But it doesn’t anymore. For starters, now I know you don’t see me that way. That was the main part of it that was upsetting, was feeling like all I was to you was a fuck, something you could walk away from any time. Plus...” He moved closer, coming up to where Sullivan was leaning against the counter in an exact imitation of the way he had on their first night together. “Now I’m getting paid for a steady position. So it’d be hypocritical of me to be upset about writing you a receipt, ‘specially since they do make a damn good alibi.”</p>
<p>“It’s certainly a steady position,” Sullivan agreed. “But we never discussed pay.”</p>
<p>“Sure we did.” Sid hooked one finger under the belt of Sullivan’s dressing gown and tugged, making the panels fall open. “I get paid in tea and heart-stopping views, among other things,” he smirked, glancing downward. “It's one hell of a great deal, from where I’m standing.”</p>
<p>“If that’s how you feel...” Sullivan opened the drawer beside them. “I wasn’t sure about this,” he admitted as he pulled something out of its depths. “I wasn't even sure I’d have the opportunity to bring it up. But I bought it anyway. It’s for you.”</p>
<p>Sid ran his thumb across the flat steel cover of the item he’d been handed. “What...” Then he flipped it open and burst out laughing. “You taking the Mick out of me with this?” He was so overcome with amusement that he had to lean against Sullivan to keep from falling over. “A bleedin’ <em>receipt book</em>?”</p>
<p>“I thought the pre-printed form would save you a little time.”</p>
<p>“Few minutes to spend doing something more exciting, you mean?”</p>
<p>“Yes. And...” Sullivan wrapped his arms around the still-giggling Sid. “...And I imagined that having an entire book of blank receipts, and a cover that you could refill when that first book is full, would help you feel like less of a...you know. Like the need for you to make out receipts wasn’t going to suddenly stop.”</p>
<p>“Aah, that’s brilliant, Tommy. Completely brilliant.” Sid kissed the side of his throat, then straightened. “And since you’re the only person I ever make receipts out for,” he grinned, “I can leave it here and-”</p>
<p>“No!”</p>
<p>Sid blinked at him. “...No? But if you bought it around town and somebody recognizes it while I’ve got it-”</p>
<p>“What, I’ll have to arrest you for theft?” Sullivan rolled his eyes. “Besides, I didn’t buy it here. I drove into Cheltenham for it. It’s...” Embarrassed, he looked away. “It’s actually a pocket notebook cover. Similar to the ones that we – the police – carry. It just so happens that pre-printed receipt books also fit into them perfectly.”</p>
<p>He dared a glance at Sid, who was beaming as if he’d never been so deliriously happy in his entire life. “You <em>could</em> start making out receipts for other people you do work for, you know, and having them sign your copy. If anyone asks, you can tell them it’s so that I won't bother them if you need that time confirmed as an alibi for something.”</p>
<p>“Ooh, people are gonna think that’s <em>hilarious,”</em> Sid snickered. “There goes Sid again, keeping one step ahead of the Inspector.” He winked. “Can’t wait to see how red you go the first time I get to use it on you outside of these walls.”</p>
<p>“I’ll practice my outraged face.”</p>
<p>“You’d better. I hope there are a dozen people watching. That’ll <em>really</em> ‘build the story’s credibility.’”</p>
<p>“As little as I generally like to be made a fool of in public,” Sullivan laughed, “I hope there are a dozen people watching that day, too.” He took the receipt book from Sid’s fingers and tucked it into his left shirt pocket, just over his heart. “That’s probably the best place to keep it,” he murmured, letting his hand linger.</p>
<p>“In case there aren’t any hard cheeses around the next time I need one? Or just 'cause that’s the pocket you’re supposed to carry tokens of love in?”</p>
<p>Sullivan blushed. “...Yes.”</p>
<p>“Good answer.” They kissed once more, and then Sid pulled away, sat down at the table, and pulled the receipt book back out. “Guess I’d better break this in before I go. First spot in the book; I wouldn’t want to have anyone else’s signature down there.”</p>
<p>“No. Me, either.” And as he watched Sid work, Sullivan wondered if anyone would notice if he stopped signing his name with the initial ‘E’ in front of it...</p>
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